


Play By Numbers

by milkandhoney



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Additional Relationships - Untagged For Plot Purposes, Additional Tags to Be Added, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, F/F, F/M, Gen, Humanstuck, Humorous Tags for a Serious Story, Illustrated (If Sims3 screencaps count as illustrations), Karkat's Life Got Flip-turned Upside Down, Loosely Inspired by a Certain Television Show, M/M, Mafiastuck, Multi, North Alternia Born and Raised, Rating Likely to Change, This is a Story All About How
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 12:37:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1899300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkandhoney/pseuds/milkandhoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I like the generosity of numbers.<br/>The way, for example,<br/>they are willing to count<br/>anything or anyone.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Play By Numbers

_________________________________________________

It was a stupid place to keep a gun.

Where most teenage boys commonly stashed their most prized and sticky fingered proclivities, Karkat’s hand grazed cold, hard, steel. Swearing under his breath, he carefully pulled the small pistol free of the mattress. He allowed himself a moment to stare at it, considering the weight and feel of the weapon in his hand as if in a trance. Then slowly he emptied the chamber, slipping its contents into his pocket and placed the gun on the floor beside him.

_Take a deep breath. Count one, two._

Summer was ending. Outside the leaves had commenced their yearly transformation, and the new school year would begin in a week or so. Inside, there were cardboard boxes still waiting to be unpacked, items he insisted on putting away himself because the servants wouldn’t know to respect their complicated histories, would touch what remained of his former life with strange, impartial hands.

Karkat’s decision to place himself in the care of his estranged uncle had remained uncertain up to the day of his arrival. Yet somehow, his cousin Eridan had managed to use the mere possibility as a way to secure only bedroom in the newly remodeled East Wing for himself. By default Karkat had been given Eridan’s former bedroom, which, he reminded himself bitterly, was still twice as big as the shoebox apartment he’d shared with his father. Shared being past tense because his father was – right. Moving on.

Karkat barely knew his cousins. Nepeta had greeted him at the door with boundless energy, her entire face shining with sincere pleasure as she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. She’d caught him off guard and he stumbled back, feeling heat spread across his face as he tried to pry himself out of her grip. Her hair was longer now, sitting just above her shoulders and framing her heart-shaped face.

Kayana and Eridan had been much more reserved, the former keeping a polite distance as she expressed her hope that his trip hadn’t been too uncomfortable (they’d sent a driver) and offering her condolences concerning his father. There was a terse moment where she seemed to consider repeating Nepeta’s display of affection and then thought better of it.

Eridan had kept his arms crossed, coolly appraising Karkat from head to toe before pronouncing him ‘too old for this orphan horseshit’ and disappearing upstairs. From somewhere down the hall a servant appeared, wordlessly taking his bags and carrying them up the same staircase Eridan had taken.

Five days had passed since then and there’d been no improvement. According to the hired help his Uncle was endlessly “out on business” and spent more time outside his extravagant home than in. Karkat suspected a large part of that business involved drinking booze, chasing women, and falling asleep in a puddle of his own fluids. He’d however sent up a welcome basket of licorice Scottie dogs, a bottle of liquor with a pack of bendy straws, and a deck of playing cards. Attached was a hastily scrawled notecard with the words: _The recipe for success. Get cooking._

As the eldest child Kanaya continued to play the part of gracious host, but too many astute observations soon put him on edge; the same went for Nepeta’s well-meaning but prying questions. He wasn’t ready to be read like a book and he definitely wasn’t ready to talk about anything personal yet. At least where Eridan was concerned this arrangement worked to their mutual benefit, as his cousin couldn’t be bothered to ask anything didn’t ultimately come back to himself.

Somewhere in the haze of his reverie it registered to Karkat that he should probably be doing something right about now.

“Fuuuuuuuck.”

Let it never be said that frustrated swearing isn’t a viable option.

With a grimace Karkat once again picked up the gun and stood, not bothering to hide the pistol as he flung his door open and stormed down the hall. A maid coming up the stairs at the same time scrambled to get out of his way and he blocked her path.

“Where is Kanaya?”

“I believe she’s just returned from a trip into the city, Mr.Vantas.” Her eyes darted from his face to his hand and back, all but visibly calculating just how likely he was to take action if provided a wrong answer. Bet Slick had left that part off the job description. “If you’d like, I can send word and-”

“What is this, the goddamn postal service? Tell me you’ve got your pen poised and your prettiest stationary ready, so I can smell it up with the aroma of my exasperated funk. I’d love to send a few fucking words.” Karkat pantomimed writing on the palm of his hand. “For instance, ‘I am not in the mood for your inane attempts at delaying the inevitable’. In case you can’t spell that out, the inevitable is you telling me where in this amalgamation of piss and bricks K-A-N-A-Y-A is.”

The maid rolled her eyes. Evidently word of Karkat’s petulance had already spread. “Check the kitchen, sir. She usually likes to brew a cup of tea before retiring for the evening.”

“Think she can handle such a remarkable task? God forbid we suggest there’s someone competent around here.”

“Believe it or not, Mr. Vantas,” the maid retorted, “the staff acknowledges that even you are capable of pouring hot water into a cup, should you choose to do so.”

“Well just lobotomize me now, I’d hate for my basic motor skills to put you out of a job. Especially with all the mutual respect and admiration we seem to be building. Imagine my relief. All this time, all I had to do to earn your approval was be a useless sack of shit. I was afraid it’d be something difficult like pouring tea.”

“I assume by now Miss Kanaya has already performed that task.”

With a scowl, Karkat pushed past her and continued down the stairs. The whole place was a giant maze, the mansion being made up of several rooms that branched off of the large foyer. The bedrooms were all upstairs, each with their own bath en-suite, and a large swimming pool, garden, and guest quarters were located out back. Downstairs consisted of all the useless rooms those with money seemed to need, parlors and receiving rooms, sitting rooms, standing rooms. He passed the corridor that led to his Uncle’s office, and found himself on route to the kitchen.

As he approached Karkat could hear the delicate clink of silver on porcelain, and he imagined the careful way his pretty cousin tended to stir her tea, waiting until the sugar cubes dissolved completely before taking a sip.

On the far end of the room was a breakfast nook situated under a large bay window that overlooked the garden. It was here that he found Kanaya sitting with Eridan, her head inclined in order to scan the newspaper that lay open between them. Good. He’d be able to scream at two birds with one cantankerous stone.

Kanaya looked up as Karkat drew near, the teacup lingering halfway to her lips as if his arrival would determine whether she was allowed to take another sip. She did so now, maintaining eye contact until he closed the distance between them and slammed the pistol down on the table.

“Attention, jackoff,” Karkat snapped, sliding it towards the obvious suspect. “Special delivery from the ‘lets hear you explain this one” express. You missed a package.”

Kanaya was the first to react, firmly pressing her lips together and placing the teacup onto its saucer. Pardon your manners, sir. _Obviously_ he was being uncouth. We only serve our weaponry with dessert wine, thank you very much.

Eridan propped his elbow on the table, cheek resting on his palm and shaking his head. The fucker actually had the nerve to look amused.

“Pretty sure I didn’t. That one’s for you.”

Before Karkat could reply Kanaya rose from her seat, newspaper carefully folded under her arm. At nearly six feet in heels, Karkat had to crane his neck to catch her words.

“Karkat, I advise you to bring a jacket. We’re going for a drive.”

***

Kanaya Maryam (like her siblings she had chosen to keep her mother’s maiden name) drove a small immodest car painted a deep jade green, its detailing lined in chrome. It was obviously expensive, sporting buttery leather seats and a glossy finish that gave the impression of a fresh wax, despite the day’s previous trip into the city. It was the kind of car Karkat expected Eridan to drive. Apparently his cousin wasn’t too fond of enclosed vehicles, instead learning to ride everything from motorbikes to horses as a means to fit his personal preference. Not that horses were a thing outside the stables. Every family needed to be able to boast about at least one equestrian.

Karkat grimaced as he climbed into the backseat. At the cost of spitefully leaving his jacket behind, the light drizzle had left him damp, squeaking noisily as he slid across the upholstery.

“I can not be the only person in this car who thinks going on a midnight joyride is a dead giveaway some egregious bullshit is likely to go down. That bastard is packing heat and don’t think I didn’t see you slip those gloves into your purse.”

“I am nothing if not a vigilant driver Karkat, there’s no need to be paranoid.”

“It’s not paranoia, it’s called survival instinct! How do I know you two aren’t try to lure me out with your illusionary tactics just to shoot me in the head and roll my husk of a body into the nearest gutter?”

“This sounds suspiciously like what one would expect a paranoid person to say.”

“Nope. Wrong. It’s smart people like me, calling out questionable choices made by dumb people like you. We stay out of the rain, we stay out of the gutter, and everyone gets to live long enough to make more terrible decisions tomorrow.”

“Thus learning nothing from your wise words artfully disguised as childish ranting.”

“Whatever,” Eridan said, squirming in the passenger seat. “We might as well get this over with.”

“I’m guessing it would be pointless to just ask where the hell we’re going?”

“Yeah, it would,” he replied flatly. “Gotta say Kar, when it comes to strategy, you’re goin’ about this all kinds of wrong. The question you ought to be askin’ isn’t _where_ we’re takin’ you, but why we’re takin’ you.”

“I thought that was covered in his murderous suspicions directed towards us,” Kanaya said.

“Maybe. But a dolt like him has to learn to think outside the box. Skip the obvious an’ consider strategic stuff like the element of surprise.”

“What’s really surprising,” Karkat remarked, “is how anyone who’s been around you for more than ten seconds has resisted the urge to clock you in the face.”

“You keep talkin’ trash, it’s exactly what I’d expect from someone who grew up where you’re from.” The disdain in his voice was apparent, like the very subject being discussed openly was cause for offense. “The amount of shit you people don’t know could fill a book, and frankly, it’s embarrassin’ to anyone who knows better.”

They went over a bump and Eridan pulled out a cigarette to distract himself. This elicited a critical sniff from the driver, causing him to roll his eyes as he cracked the window.

“Things operate different down south. For you, that’s a fuckin’ upgrade. Not to mention we’re tactfully avoiding the touchy subject of dead dads and your sudden exile to our particularly wealthy neck of the woods. Try to keep in mind that some folks have reputations to consider.”

This was met with a one-fingered salute from the backseat. “If you never spoke to me again, I would build the most meticulous time machine just to travel back to this moment and lose my shit over how good it feels to know I’d never have to exchange words with supercilious windbags for another day in my life.”

It was almost midnight by the time they reached the city, weathered streetlamps casting pools of amber light on the rain slicked roads. They’d passed the familiar landmarks that separated the residential neighborhoods from downtown, arriving somewhere in the commercial shopping district. It was eerily quiet, buildings towering overhead while the storefronts on the lower levels remained hushed and uninviting. Several windows and street corners were plastered with signs that read “EGBERT IS PROUD OF YOU” and “VOTE W.V. FOR MAYO ~~R~~ ”. Someone had it upon themselves to cross out all the ‘R’s as their idea of a clever joke.

They parked in front of a store Karkat had never heard of or seen before, a large sign reading **ERBACAM** hanging above the door.

Kanaya killed the ignition. “In the hopes of remaining inconspicuous, we should continue on foot.”

Eridan got out first, warily eyeing his surroundings and crushing what remained of his cigarette underfoot. He waved his hand, signaling for Karkat to follow. “This way.”

Together they crossed three city blocks, footsteps falling into rhythm until they arrived at a stop in a dimly lit alley. Trash littered the ground and a chain link fence barricaded the exit on the far end. Irritably shaking off a sodden newspaper, Karkat started at the sound of a door to the right being thrown open. A tall girl in a black dress emerged, wearing large round glasses and opaque tights that shimmered as she moved. She appeared to be searching for something, eyes skimming her immediate area until they locked onto an oversized trashcan.

Dumbfounded, they watched as the girl tossed the bin’s lid aside and reached in, clearly pleased as she removed the hunting rifle someone had placed inside. Strapping the firearm to her back, no longer distracted by the hunt, she seemed to register her rapt audience observing from the other end of the alley. Before anyone could say a word, she ducked past them and disappeared.

“Well hello to you too,” Eridan called after her.

Karkat shook his head. This place definitely had issues with gun control.

“Shall we?” Kayana asked, pointing to the newly vacated door.

***

The hallway they entered was covered with clocks of different sizes, shapes, and colors on both sides. Each face displayed different numbers, making it nearly impossible to tell what time it actually was. They finally came to a stop in front of a door with the number ‘16’ engraved in its brass knocker. Kanaya rapped twice and calmly stepped back as the door opened.

Standing before them was a short bald man wearing a lime green suit. He looked nervous as they filed into the room, his eyes worriedly jumping from Kanaya to Eridan and back again. He did not ask who they were and they did not tell him, making it obvious that they were all acquainted. If his uneasy reception was anything to go by, the relationship wasn’t exactly pleasant.

Behind him several men in similarly eye-searing suits milled around. Plenty of drinks and cigars were in hand, filling the room with a smoky vapor that made Karkat’s eyes water from the doorway. The small man focused his attention on him, tentative on whether to greet the newcomer or avoid him entirely. Fortunately he was saved the trouble of a decision by an eruption of laughter from a group of men seated around a table. Attention successfully diverted, he shut the door and quickly disappeared.

“Evenin’ gents,” Eridan said jovially, pulling out his revolver and sauntering towards the middle of the room. “Sorry we’re late, but you know how that goes. Anyway, I brought a guy I want you all to meet.”

Karkat immediately felt two things: the scrutiny of every eye in the room, followed immediately by the urge to wring his cousin’s yammering throat. What the shit. WHAT THE SHIT.

He turned to position himself behind Kanaya, but she’d disappeared.

“You’ll have to forgive his manners, he’s a little shy around the upper-crust.” Eridan said, grabbing Karkat’s shoulder and hauling him towards the men who sat in hardened silence.

“Get off me, you feculent pus-spewing asshole.” Dislodging himself from his cousin’s grip, Karkat assessed the situation. The table’s occupants continued to size him up and he made no secret of doing the same. He’d been in plenty of fights in his old neighborhood. It was probably number one on the list of the reasons his father had been so intent on eventually sending him away. He just hadn’t planned to do it from six feet under.

A large man on Karkat’s right bit his cigar and pushed his chair back. The table helped to camouflage his girth, but it was clear this man had an enormous gut. His face wasn’t much better, slick oily skin, a wide mouth, and round, bulging eyes that reminded Karkat of a particularly slimy frog. His voice came out in a husky croak as he stood.

“Calm doooown, kid. The name’s Bil. That’s with one ‘L’. Take a seat.”

Still suspicious, he wordlessly dropped into the chair. Eridan leaned heavily against its back, face obscured by smoke and shadow. On the other side of the table, a thin, bald man passed a leather bound notebook to him.

Karkat examined it briefly. The pages of the notebook were lined and gridded, numbers arranged in some kind of spreadsheet. Down the left side of the page were the names of several local businesses, some of which Karkat recognized from passing them only a few minutes before. This included **ERBACAM** , the place where Kanaya had parked her car.

“What is this?” Karkat asked, nose wrinkled in confusion.

“This,” said Bil, tapping the page with a meaty digit, “is The Numbers Game.”

“The Numbers Game.” he repeated blankly.

“Shut up and let ‘em explain, Kar.”

“Fuck you.”

“The Numbers Game,” the other man continued, “is a fix that we, The Felt, run. Way back they called ‘em ‘policy banks’. A bunch of different people place a bet on a three-digit number, somebody collects the money, and a few days later a number’s drawn. Whoever was closest got the goods.”

“So, a lottery,” Karkat said. Seemed obvious enough.

“Yeaaaah, like a lottery. It’s where we got those. Essentially ended the racket for those poor shmucks and put fellas like us outta business.”

“And now you all meet in the middle of the night and sit around with you dicks out, somberly fondling notebooks that remind you of the good old days. What a great game. Someone warn Parker Brothers.”

Bil fingered his cigar and turned to Eridan. “Your dad said this one had a mouth.”

“It’s part of his charm,” he deadpanned.

“Things are a little different now,” Bil continued, indicating the notebook again. “It’s a whole new set up. We play the same game, but we make it a little more...mandatory.” The group of men began to laugh again with a decided lack of subtly. 

“See the names on the side? These are our players and their shops are on our turf. If they wanna sell here, they’ve gotta play the game. Every week, we have our bookie collect the bets – then our runner collects the money from the bookie and keeps the records safe and sound, ‘til we’re ready to draw.”

Karkat’s eyes moved to the furthest column on the page. They were all dollar amounts, nothing under three figures.

“How do you choose the number?”

“Well,” Bil drawled, taking noticeable pleasure in Karkat’s interest. “Up ‘til now, we’ve had a ‘not-so-neutral’ neutral party working in our favor. 

But your Uncle Slick came on the scene and gummed up the works. Hence, a change of plans.”

Karkat bit down on the inside of his cheek at the mention of his, eyes narrowing. He should have known.

“Slick proposed we play the game on even terms. Expand the family and split things down the middle. Me? I find it kinda intriguing. But my boss, Mr. English? He’s got some trust issues. So he figures a series of trial games are what we need to see if things are on the level.” He leaned forward, bringing his face to Karkat’s and exhaled a plume of smoke. “That’s where _you_ come in.”

Karkat waved the cloud away with a scowl. “And how exactly do I factor into this shitstorm, _Bil with one L?_ ”

It was Eridan’s turn to respond now. “Listen Kar, there’s a few things you should know about us. I mean about my dad, Kan, Nep, and me-”

“You think?”

“-And while I can’t go into all the details right this moment, what they’re offerin’ is a prime VIP opportunity. You should be grateful we decided to clue you in, since we’re not just lettin’ anybody in on this caper.”

Karkat jabbed his finger into the other boy’s chest. “Wrong. A caper makes it sound like we’re taking some whimsical trip to grandma’s house to steal hot pie off the window sill or a _zany_ adventure to rescue our favorite chimpanzee from the local zoo. What you’re proposing here is fucking-” Jab. “-criminal.” Jab. “The kind of criminal that could have us spending our golden years behind bars, clutching at our chastity belts while bars of soap slip comically through our fingers. That’s what you’re letting me in on.”

Bil straightened, clearly done with their antics. “You don’t understand, kid. It’s not something that’s up for debate. No one here is interested in your moral high ground. The fact of the matter is we’re doing you a favor. Our hospitable approach is nothing but a nod to Spades’ name.”

Karkat laughed derisively. “Well have fun nodding that shit right off because my Uncle makes me sick to my ass. But wow, since you’re both so into doing favors, maybe you can take turns beating each other off while patting yourselves on the back for being such shining beacons of humanity.”

A man in the back of the room guffawed loudly, and then coughed when he realized his mistake. Everyone seemed to be growing restless, the stuffy room humming with soft murmurs. Bil closed in.

“Your name’s Vantas, right? I’ve heard the name before… It’s unique, you know?” He tapped his chin. “Same as this guy Spades used to bum around with. No relation I’m sure, but lemme tell you about him anyway. This guy, Vantas, went off to school and became a fancy scientist. Then he got sick.”

A surge of unwelcome emotions moved up Karkat’s belly, tight into his throat. His pulse hammered with hostile panicked memory and he clenched his jaw.

“And then everybody starts to get sick. People dropping left an’ right until it all links back to him. Poor guy, the whole town hates him now. Next thing you know he kicks the bucket and leaves a kid behind.”

Eridan placed a warning hand on Karkat’s shoulder. Kanaya was still nowhere to be seen.

“Police couldn’t tie the kid to anything, so they let him go. Funny, since that kid’s the only one who knows what really happened.” Bil sat on the edge of the table and leveled his gaze. “Or at least, he thinks he is.”

“You lowlife scumbag son of a bitch--” Karkat seethed, fury causing his usual rapid-fire to come out clipped and fumbling.

“I just want us to come to an understanding. The Felt may have some documents that could get you off the hook; or they could put you in the slammer for a long, long time. Sounds like a friendly exchange of information to me. Sounds like something an ambitious boy like you could do.”

“And for just how long am I supposed to be your fucking lapdog?”

“Eight weeks, right up to the end of the election. We’re using the weekly polling numbers.”

“What happens if I say no? Who’s to say I care what happens to me at this point?”

Bil shrugged. “Are you willing to risk your chance of findin’ out the truth?”

Karkat’s only response was to slump bonelessly in his chair, running frustrated hands over his face and through messy curls. They were still a touch damp from the rain, springier and tangled from the moisture.

Of course he wanted to know the truth. Everything about that day felt like a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. Walking endless dark corridors and the content of spilled beakers. The sensation of being too dizzy to remember anything other than his father’s face in soft-focus, vaseline over the lens, tight and pinched with worry. Up and down his arm the consciousness of burning and then the consciousness of nothing at all. 

Taking Karkat’s silence as assent, Bil made quick work of informing the others that he was on board to be their new runner. Glasses clinked. Eridan released an audible sigh of relief. In the same breath Bil also mentioned that boss insisted they assign a detail.

As if summoned, Kanaya suddenly re-entered the room, wearing a look of parental concern that rivaled the ephemeral. Another person also entered the room, standing besides Bil and regarding the boy in the chair with an expression of impossible boredom. When Karkat finally looked up, the boy smirked in response.

“Sup.”

**Author's Note:**

> Phew. The first chapter of my first fanfic is finally posted. *SQUIRMS* How do you all post your lovely stories without urinating all over the place? Did I mention that coding on this site is a nightmare? I need to brush up on my HTML, stat. 
> 
> Anyway, I have this story completely outlined but I'm subject to tweak things here or there, so we'll see how it goes. All I can say right now is that will probably be deeply self indulgent and Johnkat is not the only ship I plan to sail.
> 
> Summary Quote Credit: _Numbers_ by Mary Cornish  
>   


End file.
